Page 61 of Mended Hearts

“What!?” I barked, bursting out laughing.

“Captain Reynolds. His shaggy hair, all wet like that. It makes me…mmmmm.”

“Did you just purr?”

“Humans don’t purr,” she condescended.

“Sounded like a purr.”

“I didn’t purr. I’m not a cat. I just… like looking at him.”

“Well… sure, but he’s got nothing on Viggo.”

“No man does,” she declared, like it was gospel.

Oh, Ollie was so fucking hosed with this one. I couldn’t be sure, but I was pretty certain I didn’t even notice boys until I was fifteen—and even then, I definitely didn’t have opinions about their hair or moisture levels.

“Did you know Sean Bean was afraid of helicopters?” she asked suddenly, switching topics with the whiplash speed of a ten-year-old. I shook my head. She nodded, dead serious. “Yeah. He hiked up the mountains in full costume while everyone else flew.”

“What?”

“Yep.”

“Wait a damn second. Like… in his armor? All that chainmail?”

I stared at her profile to check if she was messing with me, which is how I caught the eye roll as she flicked her gaze toward me. “He had to leave two hours earlier than everyone else.”

I snorted, glancing back at the screen to process that little nugget. “That is absolutely the most Boromir shit I’ve ever heard.”

“I know, right?”

After learning that Orlando Bloom broke a rib falling off a horse and nearly drowned in his armor, I finally went for the elephant in the room. “You feeling better, sweetie?”

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Good. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“Yeah. Daddy takes me to Dr. Christner, though.”

“I know,” I said, shrugging, but turning back to the film when she squirmed uncomfortably. “But sometimes it’s nice to talk to someone just because they love us.”

“You love me.”

“Very much, yes.”

“Hmm.” She sat in contemplative silence for a beat. “Sometimes finding the right words is hard for me.”

“That, I understand. Believe me.”

“Yeah. Like tonight. That wasn’t fun.”

“No,” I agreed. “It didn’t seem very fun.”

“My brain acted like I wasn’t safe. Even though we were.”

“Sometimes, when traumatic things happen, our brains can be mean, and hang onto it—even after it’s over. They don’t always know how to let go.” Talking to Tillie was like balancing on a tightrope. One minute, she was thirty. The next, she was a snuggly little sweet potato. I never knew which version I’d get.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “You and Daddy made sure nobody could see me cry. I liked that.”

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